


on the wings of freedom

by rangerhitomi



Series: radical dreamers [8]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Alternate Universe - Past Lives, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 21:30:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2747780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rangerhitomi/pseuds/rangerhitomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Durbe sees the lands beyond, and wants to leave his responsibilities behind. Sir Nasch will give him that freedom... won't he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	on the wings of freedom

The jungle is sticky and humid, crawling with insects and slithering with snakes; enormous cats stalk their prey in silence while great beasts hang upside-down from trees while they sleep; the trees are so large, so leafy, so numerous that they nearly blot out the sun, which traps the heat and dampness. Yet despite the life of the jungle, it is silent – not total silence, but the silence that only nature can bring. Humming, croaking, buzzing; all _there_ , but always ambient.

Nasch hates the jungle. It’s too hot, too dangerous, too dark. It’s too humid, worst of all, and there’s no breeze, no air, no place for Mahha to stretch his wings. There’s no freedom here. There’s nowhere to go for a quiet moment of solitude. Always, there is the fear of injury from tripping over unseen roots, or getting bitten by a snake or a venomous insect with pincers the length of a man’s middle finger.

But that, Nasch thinks, is why the young lord seeks this place out. Not for the thrill of danger, but from a desire for freedom.

The temple is an impressive stone pyramid, each block roughly Nasch’s own height and probably weighing more than Nasch can even comprehend. It has been here since before anyone can remember, the relic of an advanced people long since gone, and from the top level of the temple there is a view above the canopy of bright green trees that stretches out to the white-capped mountains in the distance.

Nasch regrets the time he took Durbe to those mountains. At the time, he thought nothing of it; taking his prince for a ride, above the trees and through the cool breeze above the stifling jungle, listening to the breathless laughter, feeling Durbe’s arms tighten around Nasch’s waist as Mahha dipped and glided… it had been a good experience. For all of them.

But as Durbe touched the frozen crystals, piled in wet, icy mounds up to his knees, his fingers shook, his lips trembled in wonder, and he was never the same. People had noticed.

_What is ailing Lord Durbe?_

_He keeps sneaking off… do you know where he’s going, Sir Nasch?_

_No_ , Nasch would lie, _but I’ll go find him,_ and this would appease Durbe’s father. But it’s been happening with such frequency lately that this morning Nasch finally has to admit that Durbe dreams of a land of ice and not trees, that Durbe longs for a freedom he cannot have.

The king is angry with Durbe. But it wasn’t Durbe’s fault; it was Nasch’s, for giving him that taste of freedom to begin with.

Nasch finds Durbe exactly where he knew he would, exactly where he always did, and allows himself a minute to catch his breath from the long trek up the stairs before he comes up behind Durbe and places his hand on his shoulder.

“Your father is furious,” Nasch whispers, and Durbe tilts his head enough to look at Nasch’s gauntleted hand. Durbe is older by a year or so, but he seems so much younger, so much more vulnerable right now. “We need to go back.”

“I don’t want to.” Durbe’s voice is a whisper, and he turns his head back to the west, back to the icy slopes and freedom. He wears light clothing, suitable for keeping cooler in the brutal humidity, but he is still drenched in sweat from the effort of climbing all the stairs. It’s been the same every day for two weeks. Nasch doesn’t expect it to be any different this time.

“It doesn’t matter what you want.” Nasch’s hand tightens and he doesn’t miss the flinch in Durbe’s eyes. “You have responsibilities. You can’t sit around up here all day and pine after something you can’t have.”

Durbe is quiet for a moment, and he closes his grey eyes. “My friend… can’t you… take me away from here?”

There’s a lump in Nasch’s throat, a burning in his chest, and he has to turn away. “For the gods’ sakes, Durbe—“

“The place you say you’re from,” Durbe interrupts, and his voice is pleading. “You said you can always see the sky, the sea, and there’s a breeze and—“

“Shut _up_!”

He’s never spoken sharply to Durbe, not in the year they have known each other, and the words erupt from him in what he hopes is anger but there’s no hiding the tremble, so he knows he’s failed.

Durbe isn’t upset or startled. He’s concerned. “Why can’t we go there?” Durbe whispers. “Why are you here, Nasch? Why _here_ and why don’t you go back?”

He doesn’t want to talk about this with Durbe. He doesn’t want to remember it at all. Remembering the cool breeze and the salty air and the open sky only reminds him of the smoke and blood and decaying bodies in the streets of the land he once called his home.

“You don’t like it here, my friend.” Durbe takes Nasch by the shoulders and stares straight into Nasch’s face. They’re the same height, more or less, and Nasch has a hard time trying to find something to look at other than those gentle eyes.

“Why do _you_ want to leave, Durbe?” Nasch’s voice is soft now, and he tugs Durbe’s hands from his shoulders. “Your people love you. Don’t you love them?”

Durbe’s fingers dig into Nasch’s gauntlets now as he squeezes his eyes shut. “Of course, but—“

The color in his face, the embarrassed tears in the corners of his eyes tell Nasch more than words could. _Gods,_ he thinks, and his chest is on fire; he wants to throw up from the anxiety, _why is this happening?_

“Durbe,” he begins, gently, because he doesn’t want to upset the young lord any more than he already has, but Durbe shakes his head and pulls his hands free of Nasch’s.

“It’s not like that.” He rubs his eyes and turns around, facing out the wide window toward the mountains in the distance.

“Durbe.”

 “I’m… sorry.” Durbe lets out a low breath. “You’re right, we should get back. Forgive me for worrying you.”

As Durbe walks past, Nasch wants to grab him by the shoulders again and explain why he left his homeland and why he can’t go back. But he’s always been bad at expressing himself.

 _Maybe if you open up to him, he’ll open up to you_ , he tries to tell himself while they walk, but then he realizes that they’ve known each other a year and Nasch doesn’t even know Durbe’s favorite color.

* * *

 

There’s a knock at the door and Durbe lifts his head from his pillow and grimaces.

“In the morning,” he tries to say, but the door opens anyway. It’s Nasch, and his face is pale and his hands shake as he tries to pull Durbe to a sitting position. Durbe’s entire body protests because he’s _exhausted_ but Nasch is seemingly too distracted to care.

“Nasch, what’s gotten into—“

“Durbe,” Nasch breathes as he takes Durbe’s face in his cool hands—

Durbe is sure Nasch can feel his skin burning

– “let’s go to the mountains.”

“Right now?”

“Before someone notices.”

“Nasch—“

But he pulls on some warmer clothes despite the hot night and lets Nasch lead him away.

* * *

 

Nasch’s hands shake with the effort of tightening Mahha’s saddle. He’s in another time, another place, and he isn’t focusing on the task; a mistake here might cause the saddle to become dislodged during flight. He has to get Durbe away from here in time, he _has_ to – _I can’t fail again. I won’t._

From behind, Durbe presses his body against Nasch’s and reaches around to help adjust the harness. He closes his eyes, leaning his face into the crook of Nasch’s neck and – _gods_ _what is he doing_ – but Durbe’s warm exhales tickle Nasch’s neck and he’s lying to himself if he says it’s not pleasant.

“Don’t rush, my friend,” Durbe says softly, “or you’ll mess something up.”

Nasch realizes at that moment that he’s kidnapping – not freeing – Durbe, taking him away from his responsibilities and commitments just as he ran away from his own. Running away with Durbe had seemed like a good idea at the time but now he’s having second thoughts, third thoughts; _gods,_ gods, _what am_ I _doing?_ So he steps away from Durbe’s awkward back embrace and turns to face him instead.

“Durbe,” he whispers, “I never asked. What is your favorite color?”

The lord furrows his brows and stares at Nasch’s face. Nasch knows it’s a stupid question, _we’re in a hurry_ , but he finds that he… he needs to know this one insignificant detail about Durbe that he had never thought to ask before.

“Blue,” Durbe says finally, and he’s leaning forward just a bit.

“Like the sky?”

Durbe’s trembling lips are parted now; he’s breathing heavily through his nose, so much that his shoulders heave. His eyes are focused on Nasch’s lips, and Nasch knows what Durbe wants before he even answers. “No. A darker blue.”

This is all Nasch needs to know. He leans forward to meet Durbe; there’s wetness on his face even though he promised himself he wouldn’t cry.

“What’s wrong?” Durbe is breathless, and Nasch hates himself more than anything when he presses his lips to Durbe’s; when Durbe’s breathing sharpens, when Durbe reaches up his hands to take Nasch’s face, Nasch wraps the reigns around them. Mahha’s waiting, and Durbe isn’t struggling as Nasch sets Durbe in the saddle and secures him – Nasch wouldn’t struggle either, had their positions been reversed; he would have been too stunned, too heartbroken, too _betrayed_ that someone he loved would do this to him – and Nasch can’t look him in the eyes because he knows what he will find there.

“Why?” The voice is small, despairing.

Nasch knows more than Durbe’s pain. He knows his own pain, and knows what will happen should Durbe stay here, and maybe he’s a coward because he won’t accept that kind of future for either of them. “You envy my freedom,” he says almost inaudibly, “but I’m not free. I ran away. From the people I loved. They needed me and I let them die.” He shakes his head and places a hand on Mahha’s side. “You have the chance to be truly free. And now I have the chance to free myself.”

“What are you saying—Nasch! _Nasch!_ ”

Mahha gives Nasch a look of pity, or disapproval, or reluctance, but he stretches his wings and trots away, Durbe screaming back at him with tears streaking down his face. He struggles to pull himself free but he can’t and when Mahha finally pushes them into the air and flies westward, Nasch can look up again.

“I hope you pick a new favorite color, my friend.”

* * *

 

Without Mahha, Durbe would not have survived that first night, or the second, or the third. The Pegasus is reassuring and warm, and keeps Durbe from starving or freezing on that mountain. The tiny slivers of ice no longer hold any appeal for him. He doesn’t understand until the fourth night why Nasch did what he did; why Nasch would take advantage of his feelings – he loved Nasch, so he’d thought, and over the past few months had stupidly believed, or at least hoped, that Nasch loved him too – but no answer comes until he sees pillars of smoke to the east.

_I ran away from the people I loved._

_Now I have the chance to free myself._

He thinks he understands now. Nasch sent Durbe to the one place he thought Durbe would be truly happy.

But Nasch was wrong about freeing Durbe, because in Durbe’s vision of freedom, Nasch was always with him.


End file.
